


Race Condition

by thegrendel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Booth Bimbo, Computers, Gay Sex, M/M, Multi, Nerdiness, Shower Sex, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 22:02:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15715965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrendel/pseuds/thegrendel
Summary: An MMF threesome can get rather complicated. And, unfortunately, debugging a relationship is not quite as simple as debugging a circuit board.





	Race Condition

"A _personal_ computer? A _home_ computer? What kind of an  
asshole do you take me for?"

The regional sales manager guffawed in Theron's face. Positron  
Semiconductor was too busy cranking out millions of CPU chips every month  
to bother with a screwball like him. It was a damn shame. This was the  
outfit that Theron had counted on to supply him with technical support  
and, hopefully, enough venture capital to survive until orders started  
rolling in.

It was the annual DOMEX, the Domestic Electronics Exhibition. All the  
latest gee-whiz gadgetry and toys made their debut here. High-tech TVs,  
hi-fi equipment, hand-held programmable calculators, and all that other  
nifty stuff. From the looks of it, 1976 would be a great year for hi-tech  
innovation, but maybe just not for microcomputers.

Theron Kerow had put together a detailed plan for an affordable home  
computer. Sure, that wacky MITS outfit down in New Mexico had beaten him  
to the punch by a few months, but _his_ computer would be cheaper  
and much more powerful. Damn it, it would sell! He knew it. He could  
sell _hundreds_ of these machines a year! If only he could get  
someone to believe in him . . .

"Hi! I'm Kyra. Would you like some of our literature?"

What a radiant smile. And those dangerous curves! Damn, she was fine  
looking. Even for a "booth bimbo," she was stacked.

"I'm interested in the P-8082 CPU that Positron has been working on. Do  
you have anything on that?"

"Well, no, but we're almost to market with a talking calculator. These  
brochures tell all about -- "

Theron missed the rest. He was too busy running his eyes down the lush  
contours of what lay beneath the too-tight-fitting jumper she wore. Oh  
my, that state-of-the-art ass . . .

" _Hello?_ I don't believe you've been paying attention to what I'm  
saying." Her smile had faded, and there was a nasty gleam in her eye.

"Excuse me. I've had a long day, your regional manager just finished  
blowing me off, and now the best-looking woman on the exhibit floor is  
making like I'm the world's biggest jerk. Maybe I'd better be on my way."

"Well, Jee-zus dude, whadya expect? Here you are undressing me with your  
eyes as if I were your typical dumb blonde, and just how do you want me  
to react? I've been in a foul mood all day since our resident booth bimbo  
took sick and I had to sub for her. Me, a veep in Product Development,  
can you believe that?"

"My humblest apologies, Miz Kyra. I admire brains even more than I do  
finely-machined body contours, with all due respect. And your outfit --  
I mean Positron, and not what you're wearing -- has a product that could  
make or break me. The P-8082 should be the first single-chip 16-bit  
processor on the market, and with that at the heart of the machine I've  
designed, I could sell thousands -- "

"Stop right there, kiddo. I've heard these loony schemes before. Nowadays  
every still-wet-behind-the-ears kid fresh out of college with a  
newly-minted technical degree thinks the Age of Personal Computing is  
just around the bend. Yeah. As if your average civilian could even figure  
out what to do with anything as complex as a computer. If you could come  
up with an idea for using our hardware in a hi-fi system or a microwave,  
then, sure, maybe I'd listen. But computers? Gimme a break."

"Right. Guess I'd better be on my way then. Sorry to have bothered you."

"Just a minute, guy. I didn't say I wouldn't help you. It's just that  
. . . it'll require a little, shall we say, social engineering, to get  
the ball rolling."

"And why would you want to help me, Kyra?"

"Let's just say I'm more impressed by your determination than your  
non-existent credentials. And, it could be that while you were busy  
undressing me with your eyes, I might just have been doing the same  
to you. I appreciate a man who keeps himself in shape, and it's been  
. . . lonely."

 

Kyra was magnificent in the flesh. They had just finished sharing a bar of  
soap. "But I'm all dirty and sweaty," he had responded to her suggestion  
that he pop up to her hotel room for a nightcap. That had turned out not  
to be a problem when she invited him into the shower stall with her. "Of  
course," he had laughed, "save water, shower with a friend."

"Water conservation wasn't exactly what I had in mind," she'd said.

"Now, soap me up down there. Ooh, that tickles. Gently between my legs,  
please."

When he stooped to do her down below, she grabbed his head and hugged  
it tightly against her crotch. She was wet down there, and it wasn't  
just from the shower spray.

 

"Well, now. Let's say we supply you with a dozen or so sample CPUs and  
maybe a demo board or two. If you could come up with a viable design  
and a prototype for a small computer, at that point we could talk about  
technical and financial support. We'd have to get Jim aboard though,  
to break loose any appreciable amount of funding."

"Jim?"

"Jim Carver. He's the head bean counter, and he has to sign off on any  
large expenditures."

"Hey, slow down Kyra. You're wearing me out."

She was squatting astride him, leaning forward toward his face, and  
riding him hard.

"You haven't heard a word I've said, Theron. But I forgive you 'cause  
you're so damned cute."

"And because I'm always ready to fill an empty hole," he said.

She grabbed a pillow and whacked him over the head with it. The sudden  
movement tightened the grip down below on his encased member and this  
pushed him completely over the edge. He shuddered as he released his  
passion into her. Her pussy began rhythmically contracting and she yelped  
as the pillow slipped from her hand, unnoticed.

She bent down to kiss him.

"Thank you for the act of love. A certain no-longer empty hole thanks  
you also."

"Both you and the hole are most welcome. Now, what was that you were  
saying about financing?"

 

The underside of the wire-wrapped circuit board looked like a rat's nest.  
It was a jungle of multicolored wire strands -- some of them labeled with  
masking-tape tags -- and shiny bronze posts, coiled-up test leads, and  
undoubtedly some human hairs that Theron had torn out of his head in  
despair. He'd never get this fucked-up CPU board working! Not with the  
chinchy equipment he was forced to work with. Damn it, he needed help.

"Look, Kyra, I've tried everything. Traced the wiring, checked the clock  
circuit, even replaced the memory . . . but there's still something that  
causes these fucking intermittent failures."

"Wish I could do something with it, Theron, but debugging hardware's  
just not my field. I deal with the big picture, and unfortunately don't  
know the hot end of a soldering iron from the handle."

Theron knew a guy. The fellow called himself a super-tech, and he wasn't  
bragging. He could find faults in an electronic circuit by feel, just  
by placing his hands on it with his eyes shut. Hank was obviously the  
one to call. But there were complications. . . .

Hank had been a buddy of his for a while. A very close buddy. Too close,  
maybe. That had been during his bisexual phase a couple of years back.  
He had temporarily gone sour on women after being dumped one time too  
many. Hank had been there for him to lean on. And one thing had led  
to another.

"Hello, Hank?"

"What the fuck? Theron? Is that you?"

"None other. Listen, I've got a problem here I need help with. It's  
important."

"I imagine it would be, if you're calling me after the things you said  
that one night."

 

"It's a race condition. Two different on-board devices are competing  
for access to the same memory locations simultaneously. Think of it as a  
race, of sorts, between the two of them for the same resource. They're  
each trying to grab the goodies before the other one gets there. The  
fix is easy enough, though. It's just a matter of timing, of locking  
out access to one gizmo until the other has finished."

"Thanks, Hank."

"No prob, guy. Look, I would helped you out even if we hadn't . . ."

"Hank, please take your hand off me. It gives me the weirds. You know  
I still have feelings, strong feelings, but I'm sort of hooked up with  
someone now and . . ."

"And what? You're telling me that all the wonderful times we had together  
mean nothing? You've decided to go totally straight and give up those  
special things you used to like so much?"

"It's not like that, Hank. I need her. She gives me emotional support.  
And I need her support for this project."

"So, it's like that, huh? Well, go fuck yourself then."

"Hank! Wait."

It was like old times again. He was on hands and knees and Hank was  
doing him from behind. Theron had always preferred playing the bottom,  
simply because he couldn't get enough of being filled -- of having a hard  
cock pumping into his ass. It was strange, though. As soon as he came,  
most of the time just from the friction in his gut, he wanted nothing  
more than to be as far away as possible from the hairy, muscular body  
that had just finished fucking him. Hank's body.

This was a _race condition_ , too. Both Kyra and Hank wanted access  
to him. And he needed Kyra, and not just for the money and her contacts  
at the company. Her soft flesh and her warm, comforting pussy were like a  
drug to him. But he also craved being penetrated. Being ass-fucked. Not  
to mention that he needed Hank for his troubleshooting skills. He was  
torn in opposite directions, and, similar to the computer board, he  
suspected that this might cause a nasty malfunction.

One thing at a time. "Hank. I enjoyed that. And I appreciate your tech  
help, too."

"You need me, Theron. You've always needed me -- to help you go the last  
mile on things you get pulled into. And, yes, to fill the empty hole in  
your backside."

Somehow, that has a familiar ring to it, Theron was thinking.

 

"We need a name for the machine?"

"Of course we do, Theron. For marketing purposes, if nothing else.  
People won't lay out a couple of thou for a mysterious piece of equipment  
that just happens to do useful things. But they will for something they  
can relate to on a personal level. A car is just a car, but a Chevy is  
something you can get passionate about."

"Point taken, Kyra. Well, then, why don't we call it the Mindboggler I?"

"Speaking of mind boggling, would you mind terribly moving your mouth  
a bit lower. That's right. And nibble a little on my clit, while you're  
at it."

"Got it."

 

"We need _what_? Software for the computer? Whatever for?"

"So it can do something useful for the guys who shell out their  
hard-earned money for it. You know, Theron, sometimes I think you have  
your head up your ass."

"It's a bit too crowded down there for my head, Hank, seeing as you've got  
your cock there at the moment."

 

"Yeah, system and applications software, Kyra. It's an appliance we're  
selling here, something that's useful, not just a toy for hobbyists."

"I guess that means we'll have to license MycoSoft BASIC from Gil Bates  
and his associates. It's become a sort of standard for small computers."

"Not if I can help it. Bates is a flake. Everyone who's ever been ripped  
off by him knows it. He and his crew would fuck us over, too, if they  
got the chance. I could tell you stories about how he dumpster-dived  
the code for his BASIC when he was working summers at DCE. And how he  
and his buddies got busted on one of their midnight joyrides on state  
road equipment out near Albuquerque last summer. Yeah, the guy's really  
a work of art."

"So, what other choices do we have?"

"We'll worry about that when the time comes. Meanwhile, let's stick with  
the business at hand. Now, you were telling me that you were curious  
about how it would feel up your ass . . ."

"Theron, the only way I'd let that be done to me would be to make a deep  
commitment to a man I truly loved. And I think maybe I . . . I feel that  
way about . . . you."

"And I about you. Listen, Ky, the secret is relaxation and plenty of  
lube. Turn over on your left side and bring your knees up toward your  
chest, like so. . . . "

 

"Well, we're finally at the point where we can think about shipping  
iron. But I couldn't have done it without you, Hank."

"No prob, Theron. You're not just a friend; you're a partner and a lover.  
There. I almost said it. Lover. As in 'love.' It's more than physical  
attraction, more than just fucking you . . . it's something deep down.  
Something that binds us together on a fundamental level. Yeah, I think  
I'm starting to love . . . love you. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, Hank, unfortunately it does. But you see, there are complications.  
It seems that I have another partner and lover. Another person I sort  
of love. And she loves me."

"She? THAT DAMN WOMAN?"

 

"Look, Ky, I do love you, but there's someone else. And I guess . . .  
I kind of love him, too."

"Him? A MAN?"

 

"Kyra, this is Hank. He helped debug the Mindboggler. He's also helped  
me . . . "

She stood in stony silence, staring at the two of them.

"And Hank, this is Kyra, my business partner and my partner in . . . "

" . . . bed, I presume." Hank finished. He was white-faced and looked  
to be on the verge of fainting.

"What a fucking mess I seem to have made of my life," Theron continued.  
"I don't know if we can salvage anything out of the wreckage, but all  
I'm sure of is that I love you, Kyra, and you, Hank, too. Maybe it would  
simplify matters if I just walked out of here, out of your lives, and  
disappeared into the far reaches of Mongolia."

Kyra walked over and gave him a roundhouse slap hard enough to rock him  
back and make his ears ring. She did the same with her other hand. Then,  
she sank slowly into the nearest chair with her head in her hands,  
and her body shook with violent sobs.

"Now I know why I gave up on women," Hank mused. "They blow hot and cold,  
and I don't rightly know which is worse. But, at least they're allowed  
to express their feelings. I guess if I could just clout you a couple  
of times in a melodramatic fit of fury, Theron, then break down and cry,  
I'd feel a lot better, too."

Kyra looked up. "It's not enough that you're _fucking_ his asshole?  
You've got to act the part of a fucking asshole, too?"

"You really know how to hurt a guy." Hank shrugged, then he smiled.

Kyra smiled, too. "I could almost get to the point of tolerating you,  
Hank, maybe even liking you. I'm not sure, though, that I could say the  
same of Theron. Maybe he's the real asshole here. Or maybe you and I are  
both assholes . . . for throwing away our love on an asshole like him."

"So, maybe we're all three of us assholes," Theron said. "It's something  
we have in common, at least."

He went over to Kyra and tried to put his arms around her. She pushed  
him away in disgust. Then he looked at Hank, who slowly shook his head.

Theron turned around, walked out the door, and didn't look back.

 

Theron sold his share of the rights to the Mindboggler I to a consortium  
headed by the General Data Corporation for a hundred thousand shares of  
common stock, plus an undisclosed sum of cash. He lives in a broken-down  
beach house on a small island off the Venezuelan coast. His only visitors  
are seagulls and an occasional hermit crab. In the first years of his  
exile he would sometimes dream of a might-have-been past in which he  
had reconciled with Kyra and Hank and they lived happily ever after. He  
has long since sworn off sex and doesn't even get the urge to masturbate  
any more.

Kyra departed Positron to become a division head at MBI, where she was  
instrumental in the development of the modern personal computer. She  
subsequently left to start up her own software house, and raked in half  
a billion as her personal share of the IPO at the height of the dot com  
bubble. She has since retired from the computer biz to devote herself to  
hobby ranching on a 100,000 acre spread near Van Horn, Texas. Somewhere  
along the way she acquired a "trophy husband" half her age, who usually  
fails to satisfy her sexually.

A fellow answering to the description of Hank is a shadowy figure in  
Black Hat hacker circles. There are rumors that he has been providing  
technical support to some of the larger and more successful hacker gangs,  
and reportedly there is a half million dollar bounty on his head.


End file.
